Return to the Solution
by softbalchick181
Summary: In every profession one takes certain risks with certain unavoidable consequences, unfortunately this lead to difficult responsibilities named Marie.
1. Mycroft is Always At Fault

I own nothing but the plot unfolding before my eyes.

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Sherlock Holmes understood the necessity of the item sitting in front of him. Mentally, he could comprehend the importance and complexities of obtaining one, and more importantly he held those who implored their time and energy into its upkeep in his highest regards.

What his sharpened mind did not understand was why it was here.

Looking at him.

Watson did not enjoy its presence any more then Holmes himself did, soon after its arrival he conveniently remembered an appointment with an elderly woman suffering from a dreadful case of pneumonia.

Sherlock certainly hoped she had the tools necessary for doctoring at her place of residence as Watson had been so eager to escape he had forgotten to take his medical bag.

But, as it has been said before and will no doubt be said again, Watson no more wished to be placed in the current situation then Sherlock did, and because of his undying sense of duty to the man before, Holmes supposed he could forgive this momentary flight from assistance.

No, Watson was not to blame for Sherlock's impending tragic future. In anyone was to blame, and there is always someone, it was Mycroft.

As Watson felt a sense of duty to Sherlock during a case, Mycroft felt a duty to England when…well actually it was whenever England decided to call.

To Sherlock this was all fine and well as long as it didn't concern him.

Mycroft had however, discovered a way to misconstrue this particular incident and made it involve Sherlock, though for the life of him he could not figure out how or why it should.

So what if the child in front of him was his daughter?

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This chapter has been slightly edited to hopefully make it slightly less confusing, I still am having troubles with spelling errors, please forgive me but feel free to point them out!

Sherlock being referred to as Sherlock as apposed to Holmes is for third person purposes, it will not always be this way, such as when Watson is speaking or someone else who would use the word Holmes is.

Thank ya.

Reviews are most helpful.


	2. A Walk in the Park

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A Walk In the Park

In Watson's defense, he had always warned Sherlock that he put too much into his work. Had he not said on numerous occasions that if he continued to let the mysteries consume him and transform him, he'd lose a bit of himself in the shuffle from his characters reality and his true life?

It was absolutely maddening how the man could enter his bedchamber with his hawk like demeanor, tall stature and nimble limbs and exit as a 5 foot 4 Peruvian Monk who was slightly overweight in less then the time it took Watson to complete his toilet in the morning.

Perhaps what was even more maddening then the former was the fact that anyone could accomplish anything with a guise of a Peruvian Monk, when Watson could not deduce the faintest connection between that of a holy man from South America to a case concerning the disappearance of an rather important painting that was presumably worth more then eight thousand pounds.

But getting into character could only go so far. Watson was a firm believer that a line must be drawn somewhere separating professionalism from an absolute invasion of Christian morals

Though he supposed that was being rather hard on the old boy, considering Watson wasn't quite sure what sort of morals his flat mate had, be they Christian, Muslim, Jewish, or the like. Perhaps this lack of proper standards would be responsible for this…this….

Oh bother. There was no word for what his friend had gotten himself into this time; it was all Watson could do to compose himself enough to make up some absurd excuse about an ailing senior citizen to escape for walk in which he could gather his thoughts on the matter.

However he was finding this far more difficult to come to grips with then what one could possibly accomplish on a walk.

And so, he headed back to Baker Street with a sigh.

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Firstly I'd like to say sorry for all the spelling mistakes, I really and truly do spell check and read over it, I'm just so inept when it comes to that sort of thing. I'd also like to say the next few chapters are far longer, so if that's bothering you never fear!

I'd like to thank Anozira for her very helpful review, I'm going to do my best to figure out a way to keep that chapter Notice the correct spelling? less confusing. I never would have realized that with out your review!

Reviews lead to fast updates. Tata!


	3. She has your eyes

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_It_, no, _it_ was in fact a _she_, a _she_ that happened to be named Marie, had begun to cry.

It too the better part of three long minutes for the great detective to comprehend what was occurring in his living room.

His daughter was crying.

Oh how did he get himself into these messes?Sherlock Holmes was not an emotional man, but he was no robot eit

At first he had not believe what Mycroft had claimed, true, he took certain….risks while on an investigation, but certainly he had not made such an oversight as to leave this much evidence behind!

And while he was still not whole hardily in agreement with his brother, he could not pretend he didn't notice the overwhelming evidence in his siblings favor.

He could not ignore the girls gray eyes.

her. Contrary to popular belief spread by his dear companion in that propaganda called _The Strand_, he experienced the same array of emotions as any other man.

Or at least he assumed he did, one has no personal experience in such areas, and Sherlock had always found it dangerous to assume.

Of course Sherlock was not going off physical evidence alone, if he were, it was just as probable that the girl be Mycroft's offspring as his own.

The thought of Mycroft actually putting forth the effort required to obtain a daughter was almost worthy of laughter if his own daughter had not sat in front of him sobbing.

He simply could not think with such distractions, and so he supposed it would be prudent to make it….Marie stop.

"Mrs. Hudson!" He called loudly, only to startle the young child more thus increasing his discomfort.

"MRS. HUDSON!" That blasted landlady of his was always fumbling about at the most inconvenient times, and yet when he truly required her assistance she was no where to be found?

"I suppose she's also assisting Watson" he thought with a hint of anger at how quickly his associates abandoned him during his time of need.

Honestly, they hadn't even given him a chance to explain himself. Had he any idea that such…things would result from his actions he never would have accepted that damn case in the first place.

Though as resentful as Holmes might or might not have been, he did have some sense of duty, and this required that he attempt to make this young girl as comfortable as possible.

Searching into the depths of his mind for any knowledge that would help him during this trial, he decided that the girl was simply afraid.

"Well, that's reasonable." He summarized, after all, he was a bit more then terrified at the moment, though he was proud to say he was not throwing such a….temper tantrum.

Though handling a situation better then a two year old was nothing to brag about.

Approaching the child with a little more than caution, he reasoned that if he picked her up with the full length of his arms extended just beneath the shoulders, he would be able to put an end to that infernal crying with out risking dirtying his attire with her drool.

"Um…stop that crying at once, I really do insist…"

It was quite the scene if anyone had been present to watch, the cold detective standing uncertainly with outstretched arms holding a befuddled toddler.

In his defense, it had done the trick and Marie had stopped her crying, though more from pure confusion than the actual act of being comforted.

It was at this point Watson decided to return and make himself privy to just what his friend had to say about this whole situation. Though that would have to wait for the dangling child in Holmes's arms look as if it were moments away from slipping a good five feet to the floor.

"Dear God man, she's not toxic, you must cradle her!"

"I'm well aware of her acidic state thank you. Your patient has made a full recovery so soon?" Sherlock was slowly brining the child closer to his abdomen, not looking at all sure of actually touching it.

"What patient?"

Watson couldn't be sure, but he was almost positive he heard an "I thought as much" muttered under the breath of his friend.

"Holmes, we need to talk, just what is it you plan to do about the child? Surely…" Watson was silenced with a piercing glare from Holmes.

"Watson, I will be more then happy to elaborate on the details of this…predicament, but first, I believe the girl is tired and should be put down for a nap."

Needless to say, Watson was greatly surprised by this display of paternal caring from his calculating friend. He watched as Sherlock disappeared into his bedchamber and reemerged Marie-less a few moments later.

"She gave you no trouble being put down?" Astonishing, his friend had many talents but Watson was almost positive childrearing was not one of them.

"I'm sure it has been a trying day for her, she was practically asleep before she reached the bed." Sherlock himself was looking rather tired, and I'm sure he also could benefit from a nap.

"Now, surely Holmes, Mycroft has made some sort of a mistake. It simply isn't possible that this child could be yours…" Watson was interrupted however by the man sitting in front of him.

"I'll admit, it does seem very improbable,"

"Exactly! Its foolishness, pure foolishness, now all that remains is to find the true guardians and reacquaint them with their lost child." The doctor enjoyed people's presence far more then his protégée, yet the responsibility thrust upon two bachelors was simply preposterous.

"Supreme idea old boy and I have an excellent idea as to where to start. Mycroft must be involved in a secret affair involving the Japanese emperor Laux Yyaung and new technology involving large airships capable of dropping explosives the size of an apple on Scotland Yard. In a desperate attempt to keep the formula a secret from the Germans a code was sewn onto the shirt of the child and given to Mycroft as easy means of escaping the country, and has now been passed on to us for safe keeping."

Watson's eyes positively lit up at such an complex deduction,

"Why, you really think so Holmes?"

Sherlock scoffed and sighed.

"Hardly, I'm afraid Mycroft is all too correct in the assumption that I am the father. Under most circumstances I would simply return her to her mother and take the appropriate measures, but I'm afraid that is quite impossible." It was then that Watson noticed for the first time the sadness in his friends eyes.

"And why is that?"

"I'm afraid her mother is dead, and that I am the reason for her untimely demise."

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Yes, there is an actually plot, and Sherlock will show actual human emotion, but I do not think that you can be true to the character and make him an overly loving father figure. Perhaps with time, but not right away.

I realize that in most stories Watson is portrayed as loving gentle uncle type figure, but it is noted several places that he was not overly found of children, and perhaps that's why he never makes any mention of his own.

Once again, if you hate the way this is all written please tell me and I'll try to change it.

I'm not doing this for reviews, I realize that in this particular fandom they're not as numerous as in some others, I'm merely doing this for a fun summer past time, but that doesn't mean I enjoy receiving them any less.

Also, I have done my best to correct the errors pointed out in the earlier segments, and I shall continue to do so as long as the wonderful constructive criticism continues.

It should be noted spell check was not used on this AN


	4. Watson Takes a Stand

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"Watson do you remember _The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton_?"

We had settled into our familiar chairs in front of the hearth as Holmes began his no doubt fascinating narrative.

"The one in which you became engaged to a maid to become privy to information? Yes, I remember Holmes" I did not approve of this method of receiving information, perhaps to my friend woman we're nothing more then a means of gathering data and study, but I had found that with the proper amount of time and attention they could be truly delightful.

"Watson there is no need for you to hide your distaste at my actions, but pray keep your distaste to yourself for until after you hear what I have to say."

Did Sherlock Holmes just give me an order? My, this had been an interesting day. And yet I obeyed as the obedient Boswell that I am and listened to my friend speak.

"Yes, well, that case was not a singular incident; in fact, I have used that particular form of investigation on three separate occasions. The first being two years before I met you, to a woman of high social satire who was the niece of a shipping manager suspected of shipping more then tea."

"Opium?" Ventured Watson.

"No, children Watson, though I'm sure there was opium also involved. This man was a devil of a fellow though relatively easy to apprehend once caught off guard directly before he devolved into his daily practice of chasing the family maid into the broom closet precisely at 5 every evening. A vital piece of information that would have been impossible to collect without the help of that young woman.

"I think Watson, that if I we're to ever be married it would have been to Annabelle, when she discovered that I was not a simple hat vendor but a detective she threw far less of a fit than I would have assumed."

I repressed a sigh at my friend's ability to simply throw away such cherished emotions with the simple excuse of information.

"The second I'd assume was the case of Mr. Milverton?"

"No, contrary to the relative low maintenance engagement I held during that particular case, the second incident was probably the most in-depth persona I've ever had to take upon myself.

It was due to the sheer amount of time I spent investigating that led to the unavoidable continuous rise of the relationship, before I knew it, she was no longer a fiancée but a wife."

It was all I could do to not to rise in protest. To lie while taking vows in a church was simply unacceptable, information or not!

"Holmes!"

"Yes Watson, I have never said I was a good man. Infact, it is becoming more and more common for me to utterly loath myself, perhaps more than the criminals I chase."

Taken slightly aback I took a moment for me to compose myself enough to announce there was no excuse for such folly.

"She was with child."

As a doctor I often advise my patients who experience panic attacks. A common method of treatment is to simply close your eyes and count to ten as a small child might do.

I was far beyond counting to ten.

"Holmes! You insufferable retched man! How could you do such a horrendous thing to an innocent woman? Not to mention your absolute lack of moral values! What a man does with his fiancée is one thing, apprehensible and ungentlemanly as it may be, but it is another thing entirely when the bond is fake and one is being led on a path of deceit by the other!

Not to mention the fact that you have never said a word about having a child when it is apparent you knew this entire time! You left that poor woman alone, how I'm not entirely sure, to raise a child. A task not easily performed by two but almost impossible for a single woman! And what about her finances? How could she possibly spend the time necessary with her child if she were working trying to find the means to simply keep it in the proper condition?

I've known you to be cold, I've known you to be dense and absolutely immune to the emotions of others despite your deductive abilities, but I have never known you as this."

Holmes had sat with his head tilted downward and chin facing away. It was now that he lifted his face and looked me in the eyes.

"And what is _this_ Watson?" His tone was colder then ice itself.

"A monster Holmes, I realize I am nowhere near your intellectual abilities, but for the life of me I can not deduce when you turned into a monster."

With this, the man who had remained loyal to Sherlock Holmes for numerous years and even more numerous cases stood and walked out of his life.


	5. Fashion Week

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As a medical man, Dr. John Watson was an avid supporter of exercise and its benefits on the human body. Not only did movement help prevent certain cardiovascular ailments, but recent studies were beginning to conclude it released endorphins that could chemically alter your mood, giving you a sort of a physical high.

If the latter were true, Watson was going to be in peek shape, both mentally and physically when this ordeal was over.

If it would ever be truly over…but when could that possibly happen? Marie, as the child was called, was no ordinary case that would simply conclude itself in a matter of time, she was a living and breathing child that would require care for the rest of his life.

He sighed to himself, if Holmes could hear his thoughts he would be thoroughly appalled. Watson could hear him now,

"_Well of course she is a living breathing child, Watson. Did you expect some sort of stuffed doll?"_

What _did_ Watson expect? If he were to be completely honest, the thought that Sherlock Holmes would ever be part of bringing a child into the world that Holmes himself spent so much time despising, had never crept its way into Watson's inquisitive mind.

But perhaps the thing that bothered Watson most, was that Holmes himself apparently didn't see it as a possible outcome either. This in itself was a most troubling fact and so absurdly odd that the good doctor had difficulty even touching the disturbing topic.

He had half a mind to turn back around, take a left, walk two blocks east and march up those all too familiar 17 steps and confront Sherlock about this very thing before he remember his untimely leave and determined there must be a better way…or rather a better source of information.

Yes, that is what he would do. Watson would go straight the source of all of this, his dear companion's elder brother.

After all, it was Mycroft who brought the girl in the first place.

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Sherlock sat in a slight stupor after Watson made his hasty retreat. Had he known his reaction would be quite so emotionally driven perhaps he would have come up with a less….shocking narrative.

Standing, he made his way to his bed chamber, thinking a good plucking of the Stradivarius would be most helpful in easing his racing thoughts. He would have preferred cocaine but Watson had slowly been depleting the solution and Sherlock had not the energy to search for a vile of an almost nonexistent narcotic.

However returning to his room reminded him of why he was seeking solace from his thoughts in the first place.

There she laid as peaceful and innocent as….as…..well, he wasn't entirely sure he had ever seen anything quite as soothing as the child before him. And yet, he reasoned, he had spent very little time around children, so perhaps all of them exhibited this sort of angelic radiance.

This was, of course, before they began to experience the injustices of the world, before they became accustomed to death, and betrayal, or to hunger.

Suddenly an idea occurred to the master detective, what was it a child ate? Very little, if he recalled correctly, children were terribly stubborn and refused to eat so many of his common dietary needs that he feared Mrs. Hudson would have to go out of her way in order to accommodate one.

The thought of Mrs. Hudson made him grimace, she was, more or less, in the dark about Marie. In-fact, the woman had not been told of the true relations of the girl, and Sherlock assumed that she believed her to be a daughter of a client, or a distant relation of Watson.

Something could be done about that later though, he supposed. But thinking about long term relations reminded him that the girl had no clothing. Mycroft had left a reasonable sum of money for purchasing necessary items, the fact he felt Sherlock was ill-suited to afford child's clothing was almost offensive.

Never the less, the child would require suitable clothing and seeing as he couldn't exactly divulge to the land lady why she should purchase clothing for Watson's niece, he feared he would have to buy the necessary items himself.

Unfortunately, Watson's foolish little narratives had made him somewhat of a small celebrity. And while he would never mention his paranoia to the good doctor, Sherlock had, on more then one occasion, had the eerie suspicion that he was being followed.

Even if he was wrong in his beliefs, a possibility he highly doubted and yet was willing to accept all the same, he still could not risk letting the criminal populace of London know he now had a new weak link ready for breaking.

But Sherlock Holmes had been in plenty of places without having to "be" there. He was not fashion inept, but upon discovering if you wore something enough, people began to expect you in it, and would almost go as far as to not recognize a person in any other attire, he found it to be, pardon the pun, child's play to disappear among the crowd.

So it was with much confidence that Sherlock Holmes went to his closet, and expected to reemerge as a perfectly respectable father.

However, the Great Detective would soon learn that the clothes don't necessarily make the man.

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I don't really like this chapter, but I have a sneaking suspicion the next one might very well be my favorite, or perhaps I'll hate it the most.

I guess we will find out when I write it huh?

Hehe, as always, thanks a bundle.


	6. Cosmic Coincidences

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Cosmic Coincidences

If they had been living in a story book, Watson supposed that Holmes character opposite would not be some criminal, not even cunning mastermind, but rather his elder brother.

Both men were extreme in their behaviors, and that is where the similarities ceased.

While Holmes would go to an extraordinary effort, or at least it seemed so to Watson, to appear unpredictable and completely odd in his daily habits, the elder brother of the Holmes clan was hardly what one would call spontaneous.

In fact, Mycroft was so utterly unchanging in his daily exhibits of faith; Watson would go as far as to say one should take great caution and suspect an upcoming war or some other calamity of that sort, if one spotted the large man up and taking a stroll through the park.

It was with this reassurance of meeting an unchanging, stern, and over all dull creature that Watson walked confidently up to the steps of the Diagnoses club, walked through the door, and prepared to search for the bulky man himself.

Unfortunately, the Diagnoses club valued the privacy of its members, and when Watson, who was not in the bests of moods and found the door man utterly intolerable, attempted to brush past without first signing the large book being thrust at him, he was not received with any measure of hospitality.

"Sir, if you please, you must sign your Christian name here, the name you go by here, your address directly under, followed by the date of birth…"

Simply ignoring the man, Watson made his way up the large stairway he suspected to have been built in the height of the Bork style so regal and opulent they stood.

He had been to the Diagnoses club a grand total of three times in his life. The first had been to meet the aforementioned elder brother; the second was in the midst of a pressing case in which he and Holmes had ignored the doorman in precisely the same fashion.

Almost feeling a pang of guilt for the poor chap, he had after all, only tried to do his appointed job, but Watson could not possibly deal with minor trivialities during such a stressful time.

Though he did suppose it wouldn't hurt to stop on the way out and make a brief apology.

Sadly, Watson never got that far. Apparently breaking club rules with Holmes was one thing, but by himself he was quickly apprehended by one very angry doorman, and escorted out of the grand building.

He stood there in the bright July sun trying to register what had just happened. It took not but three breaths for him to realize he had ruined any chances of gaining additional information for the evening.

And so, Watson continued on his fruitless stroll through the shopping district of London, all the while muttering "Bloody Hell" under his breath.

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In a not too distant neighborhood of London, a cab was rumbling along. Within it sat what appeared to a common man, a passing pedestrian would assume him perfectly respectable, if not extraordinary. The cabby would assume he lived a perfectly regular life, with perfectly regular circumstances.

It was an altogether, a perfectly pleasant scene.

Or at least it would have been, if not for the squirming child seated next to this perfectly respectable man.

Holmes was not at all proud of himself and this endeavor. His costume was mediocre, at best, but he hoped the populace of London was dense enough to believe that he did, truly, wear that horrendous cap and cloak the Stands illustrator had painted on him.

But most of all, he was most distraught at having to actually bring the girl. He had planned to simply leave her with Mrs. Hudson, but the landlady simply would not have it.

He suspected it had something to do with his constant teasing of her small fears such as spiders and spirits.

Touché.

And yet while he subconsciously admired her utter stubbornness and sense of sport, this really was not the time for such childish games.

"You'll need her anyway Mr. Holmes. Children grow like weeds and there no telling what size she might take"

Yes, she had brought up a very valid point, and yet while he recognized the logic used, he could not even begin to think about the impossible task of changing the child. This really was a woman's world and he felt like an imposter.

No matter, he decided, he would simply play the part.

The cabby came to a halt as Sherlock got his first glace at the brightly colored shop he had come to on Mrs. Hudson's suggestion, he had no idea where she got her information, though he supposed it was a womanly thing and should not be picked apart by the likes of man.

Aside from exercise, walking is an excellent way to think, but before long, the tired and hurt Watson was all thought out.

Though perhaps due to some sort of cosmic coincidence, this occurred at the exact moment he happened to be passing a children's apparel shop in the East end of London's finest shopping area.

If Watson had been walking a pace faster, he would have still been pondering over recent developments and not even taken notice of such a place. If he had been walking a pace slower, he would have given up and taken a left at the corner immediately behind him and headed back home to face the inevitable.

But whatever fate that had been thrust upon them all had had its way this lovely July day, and the good doctor found himself drawn into the quaint shop.

His friend was positively inept at child keeping, and while he himself did not practically enjoy the thought of a small addition to their makeshift family, he supposed it would not be too much of a burden to see what sort of clothing was available.

Glancing about the small boutique, he idly wandered to the section of the store that he supposed would best suit his purposes.

Oddly enough, once he found the proper section, he was unable to see any merchandise due to a large man blocking all from view.

The clerk in attendance who had worked at this small shop for over five years was utterly beside herself. Men were a rare occurrence in a children's store, mostly some sort of maid or governess did this sort of thing, and yet now she had two of them in the same section!

Three very odd men actually…there was another who had come in not fifteen minutes earlier with a small child she only assumed to be his daughter. They were presently in the back struggling with an adorable new navy blue dress that had only just come in yesterday.

Normally she would not have recommended it to such a young child seeing as it was very expensive, and children tended to out grow or dirty expensive clothing, but this man had seemed so uncomfortable that when he came in and asked for anything she thought might fit the child, she couldn't help but take advantage of the situation.

And yet while the man seemed positively inept at clothing the child himself, he refused any assistance.

Men were so proud.

The woman scoffed and headed over to the two gentlemen browsing the 11-18 month old section.

"Excuse me gentlemen, but can I be of any assistance?"

Both Watson and the other fellow turned to see the woman, and for the first time, they saw each other.

Watson positively yelped, while Mycroft Holmes remained not only calm, but polite.

"No thank you, we are merely browsing."

The woman huffed and shuffled her frilling skirts away.

Watson looked at Mycroft a moment before speaking, "I went to the Diogenes club but…" remembering his less then proud moment "I was unable to find you"

Instead of answering the doctor's question, Mycroft's brow creased.

"Where is Sherlock?"

Being so used to Holmes way of changing the subject without a moments notice, this hardly fazed him.

"Well, I suppose he is back at Baker Street…." He was becoming frustrated. He was not Holmes keeper, at the moment; he was hardly even Holmes confidant.

"Oh dear…"

"Why? Is something wrong?" While he was not any sort of baby sitter, he did acknowledge that something could go wrong at any moment with his friend, add a child to that equation and he suppose the odds were you could go three hours at most withouta small disaster.

"No…no I suppose nothing is wrong, though I had rather hoped you would have stayed and helped Sherlock, my brother is not the best with young children…"

Just then a wail was heard from the rear of the store the clerk from before looked up briefly from her newspaper before quickly running off in that direction.

Watson shrugged before say "Yes well, I needed a moment to think…I was taking a long stroll when I happened upon this shop, what may I ask, are you doing here?"

Mycroft looked puzzled a moment before responding.

"I'd imagine the same thing you are, shopping for Marie of course."

"You left the comforts of your club to go dress shopping? Surely there is someone more apt at doing such things." This behavior was not common at all; it might even go as far as being spontaneous. Watson was about to ask if there was an impending tragic event he should be aware of but he was cut off.

"True, there may well be more qualified people for such missions, but Sherlock is my brother, and Marie is my niece, and I do occasionally venture out from the heat of the club for family." There was a glimmer of amusement in his eye,

"Also, had I asked someone to do this chore for me, it meant compromising Sherlock's privacy and Marie's safety, and at least, for the time being given the circumstances, I believe those should remain our highest priorities.

Before I could ask just what he meant by Marie's safety, and given circumstance, yelling could be heard once again from the back of the store accompanied by a child's wailing.

"Sir! If you please would let me assist you!" pleaded the clerk who had attempted to help Watson and Mycroft earlier.

"Confound it woman I told you I require no assistance!" A very angered voice emitted from behind a closed curtain.

"Yes but sir! You're hurting the child and the dress is not supposed to look like that!"

As if on cue a small whimper was heard.

"Well if she'd stop moving her arms about it would be much easier! Perhaps you got me the wrong size and that is why it does not look correct?" It sounded more like an acquisition then a suggestion.

The clerks tone took on more of a forceful nature. "Sir, I assure you there is nothing wrong with the size of the dress, it simply was not made to be worn backwards."

Four beats of silence were heard before a muffled "Oh."

As the outburst past, I turned to Holmes's elder brother only to find him standing in a stupor.

"Are you feeling quite alright?" Perhaps he was feeling faint, it was a rather hot day, and for someone so unused to physical exertion this must have been a very trying experience.

"He wouldn't…." muttered Mycroft

"Sir, please if you are not well I beg of you to take a seat…" he was growing paler and paler by the second.

Another shout was heard from the back "Woman! Get back here this instant! She's begging to fall asleep and I can not get her arm out of this bloody sleeve!"

Sighing, the woman who was secretly glad she had finally been permitted to enter, ducked behind the curtain.

As the trio emerged and the woman stepped aside as the man uttered a final insult of "If you had simply has the sense to tell me the zipper went in the front we could have avoided all this trouble."

The woman sighed responded with a well mannered "Of course sir, then you'll be taking the dress?"

"Yes, I'll take three now that I know how to put the blasted things on" He shifted the sleeping child from one arm to the next.

"And in what colors would you like those?"

"Hm? Oh, I don't care. Blue I suppose"

She turned around with a look of surprise on her face "You'd like all three to be in blue? Certainly you'd like a bit more variety then that…"

"I really see no need for variety, but if it will get me out of this damn shop any sooner I suppose I shall humor you, now what options do I have?"

She gestured to a rack right behind the man and for the first time I could see why Mycroft had gotten so pale.

"Bloody Hell" Mycroft murmured under his breath as Holmes spotted us.

It was one of the few times I had ever seen my friend frightened, though it was only for a moment, he was utterly humiliated.

Walking over to us, the younger Holmes snarled out "And to what do I owe the honor of seeing my dear elder brother at such an odd location?"

"Well Sherlock, I hardly expected you to take the responsibility of a child and actually purchase her clothing." The absolute vehement tone he took was shocking, even to Watson.

"You gave me money, did you not?"

"Yes, but I hardly assumed you'd use it for its required purposes."

"Tsk, tsk, Mycroft, you, of all people, assuming? I had thought you more intelligent then to make assumptions, especially those that involve human nature. And now, if you'll both excuse me, I must be getting back to Baker Street, as you can see, my companion is in dire need of a nap."

And then it was Sherlock who did the leaving.

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Alrighty! I kinda like this one, though on the last one I got so many reviews! Its amazing! It's been said that calling Sherlock Sherlock is a bad idea, I'm willing to go back and change it so please tell me if you'd like it to change or remain the way it is.

This chapter referred to him as Holmes; if you found it better that way then it's a good comparison.

I've read in several places that Watson didn't despise children; merely didn't find them completely charming, one of these was the Wikipedia site, just Google Sherlock Holmes and you'll find it. Watson will be becoming more and more kind hearted as the story continues though.

Its in there somewhere. Trust me. Oh, and just so no one is confused, when it says "your hurting her" I didn't mean he was abusing her, I simply meant he was not used to handling a child and was a bit rough.

Please continue those awesome comments! Thanks so much!


	7. Behind Cold Steel

Return to the Solution

Behind Cold Steel

Piercing gray eyes looked sharply into a matching set of equally determined pupils; pure stubbornness had taken hold of both sets of owners and the end of this impromptu staring competition was not in either's line of vision.

And yet, perhaps due to wariness or utter defeat, the larger of the two turned away. He was not, nor was he ever, in the mood for games. He had a simply problem, with a simple enough solution.

It was, as it usually is, the actually operation that made things difficult.

But Holmes was hardly an orthodox man, and his methods could be easily adjusted for proper results, and Watson had always claimed he had a flare for the dramatic…

Putting forth his very best gentlemanly droll, he said in a most refined manor "I do say madam, but you really should try some of these _mushy peas_ and _cold porridge_, tis most delightful."

Marie looked a bit confused, if not humored, but opened her small mouth to let out a childish laugh all the same. This was exactly the result Holmes had been hoping for and took the opportunity to shove a spoon full of the pea and porridge concoction into the young girl's mouth.

He could hardly blame her for not wanting to eat it, but they had been at this for two hours already, the flat was a mess, more so than usual, there was more food on her than there was in her stomach, and somehow, though he couldn't for the life of him deduce how, he had gotten a spoon full of peas stuck to the ceiling.

Add to this the fact she was beginning to tire made the process all the more difficult, and while he reveled in a challenge, he also longed to be out of his porridge soaked attire.

He had no idea children slept this much, though he was rather glad they did for he had no idea how to entertain a child when it was awake.

A knock sounded at the door, with an exasperated sigh Holmes turned

"Come in Mrs. Hudson! You never bothered to knock before so you might as well exercise your usual amount of freedom!"

A small 'humpf' was heard and then a gasp from behind.

"Mr. Holmes! I do hope you won't object to me cleaning off this….this…whatever it is!"

Standing and brushing off a stray pea or two, Holmes merely chuckled. "Now, now, Mrs. Hudson, what sort of tenant do you think I am? I would never dream of denying you the joy of cleaning up after a meal, but now if you'll excuse me, I do believe a certain young lady is in dire need of a bath."

A look of shock crept across the older woman's face. "Why Mr. Holmes, you're not saying _you're_ going to be giving the lass a bath?"

"Well, I hardly expect you to do it, and seeing as Watson is currently….out, I suppose I'm the only one left. Why, you act as though I've never bathed a child!" A look of mock hurt showed in his face as he lifted Marie from his arm chair.

"To be perfect honest Mr. Holmes, I wasn't aware that you had ever been presented with such an opportunity."

But Holmes had already disappeared behind the door and she could faintly hear the sounds of a tub being filled with water.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

After the meeting in the children's boutique Mycroft and Watson exchanged a few words and it was soon decided that after luncheon, Watson would meet the elder man in his private study that he held at the Diagnoses club.

Watson felt that Mycroft must have been feeling extraordinarily social as to have made such an offer, but this only worsened the dread he felt. For, if a Holmes was going out of his way to make one feel it necessary to socialize then one could be quite sure that something very serious indeed was about.

And so it was with this in mind that Watson, for the second time today, ventured into the grand entrance way of one of London's most prestigious clubs. He was slightly embarrassed to see the same doorman as before, but after apologizing profusely and listing all the requirements on the entry form, the man's demeanor began to change slightly so his professional courtesy wasn't quite as forced as it had been previously.

However, after being shown into Mycroft's study all thoughts of the doorman or any other related topic fled from the doctor's mind. Sitting with his head back in a large over sized chair was the elder Holmes. Not only were his eyes closed, but he looked so still that Watson feared he had fallen asleep.

Watson must have stood and stared one moment too long, for Mycroft opened one eye and gestured him into a chair adjacent his own.

With no small effort, the older man moved closer to the end of his chair and poured himself a glass of brandy, as well as one for Watson himself.

Taking a quick drink of the deep red liquid, Mycroft decided to break the silence.

"No, I did not know I was an uncle any sooner than you yourself found my brother had become a father. He, on the other hand, has known from the beginning and has led quite the double life ever since."

Watson, not entirely surprised that Mycroft had known his question even before he had had an opportunity to ask it, simply sighed at the answer.

"Certainly, the young woman knew Holmes was not who he claimed to be?"

"Tell me Doctor, was my brother ever away on a regular bases for long periods of time?"

Watson thought a moment. Yes, Holmes did have a habit of leaving at the most unusual times, but there was never a pattern to such a thing, and his sojourns were never long.

"No, no I suppose he hasn't."

Mycroft nodded knowingly, "Well then you have your answer. My assumption is he told the young lady not long after the conclusion of the case, unfortunately that was not soon enough to save the heartache and embarrassment he put on her."

Watson began to speak but was cut off by a wave of Mycroft's hand.

"Now before you completely damn my brother, you must realize that while he may have one of the biggest brains in London, he truly does not understand delicate matters such as these. No, in his mind sending almost his entire income to the young lady was sufficient. I'd even go as far as saying he visited the child on more than one occasion."

Watson's brandy was almost entirely gone, but before Mycroft had the chances to replenish the glass, he was waved off. He needed to have his mind clear, and could not risk letting the warm liquid numb his senses.

"You're saying Holmes has actually seen this child?" He didn't know if he was angered that his friend had been moonlighting in such a way under his very nose for so long, or ashamed at the fact he had not noticed a single indication.

"Yes, though I'd hardly say they had any sort of a relationship. Half an hour here, an hour there, he was never left alone with the child for any reason, and never held responsible for any of her daily needs. As we were made witness to earlier today, he is no more experienced with raising a child than he is with cooking for royalty, he is perhaps more suited for the later."

Mycroft Holmes was a drinking man, though never so much as it might have impaired his judgment, and he had a remarkable tolerance that Watson could not even begin to define. And yet, as he poured his third glass of Brandy, Watson was beginning to wonder if perhaps he was trying to calm his own nerves rather than be a hospitable host.

"While I must admit to being thoroughly disgusted with my brother right now, I can not deny how wretched he must be feeling. I hardly assume him to be in a stable sort of mind and I rather fear for his safety. I had hoped you would be there to keep him away from any sort of danger he may inevitably put himself in, though I suppose you are entitled to know what you've been thrust in to."

To say in the least, Watson was very confused. Yes, Holmes had asked for his help on several instances in which danger may be present, but Watson had always suspected that was as much for help as it was so Holmes to keep a good eye on his trusty Boswell.

"Excuse me, but I hardly see how I could be of any service protecting Holmes from something he himself can not defeat. He is, after all, a skilled fighter and I with my limp and troublesome arm, am hardly any help at all." He left out the fact he could still shoot a gun with the same accuracy as he had been able to before such injuries, but seeing as Holmes could do the very same thing…

"Forgive me Doctor; I must have been in remiss with my wording. I did not mean you need protect him from anything the outside world has to offer, though I dare say he could use some, but from what he might inflict upon himself. You, perhaps more than anyone, are aware of his vices."

Watson was beginning to wish he had let Mycroft poor a second glass of Brandy.

"You don't mean to say that he would resort to such measures as that damn syringe during such a time?"

"My brother is currently dealing with the pressure of being a newly appointed life line to a small child, something I'm sure he thought he'd never have to face. The grief of being responsible for both the conception of a child under false pretense and the grief of being responsible, though indirectly for the mother's death."

Watson looked up quickly; he had completely forgotten this one large detail.

"Please, what exactly befell the young lady?"

Mycroft's eyes looked downward, a show of pain spread across his face as he began to speak.

"You are, well aware, that my brother has many acquaintances in the lower portion of London's society." Watson nodded his head in acknowledgement. "It is for this very reason, I believe, that Sherlock remains so aloof and solitary."

Noting the look of confusion of Watson's face, he dug deeper into explanation.

"You see, with each relationship he begins, a new threat has been born. It is not an exaggeration that he posses a certain amount of danger to each and every one of his friends, if only for his enemies constantly looking for a weakness."

"So what you mean…" Watson began, "Is that he purposely kept away from Marie and her mother in order to protect them?" Holmes had always been one step ahead, and Watson was always jumping to speedy conclusions that all too often led to the wrong results. He was beginning to fear he had made a terribly mistake in leaving so quickly.

"Yes, that is exactly what I mean. It is my belief that he desired, or perhaps even longed to be a larger part of Marie's life, but knew it to be far to dangerous." In an almost whisper he continued "And he was right. Someone, God only knows who, discovered the relationship between the three and saw it as their golden opportunity to get back at a detective that was merely doing his duty."

As he finished the statement, a large grandfather clock that had previously gone unnoticed chimed ten. Mycroft stood and Watson felt obligated to do so also, ashamed to have acted in such a hasty and childish manner.

"Now please Doctor Watson, I beg of you to return to Baker Street and keep an eye on him, for I fear soon the shock induced behavior will wear off soon and his mind will begin to eat away at his soul."

With that Watson was quickly ushered into the night.

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This chapter is mediocre, at best, and for that I am sorry. I do believe next chapter will portray a bit more of my original intentions.

Now, here's were I'm going to need your help.

I'm going away to camp that will last all through the beginning of August starting next Saturday, I believe I have a suitable ending I can post before then, or, if you like, I can do my best to come up with a longer more complex plot and take up from wherever I leave off in the early fall.

Its all up to you.

Thanks so much for the awesome reviews.

Also, I just realized how stupid I was being as far as the page breaks go. You see, I'd put them on there, but then when I'd refuse the errors I would forget to put them back up, so half of you have been reading the story with out the breaks in there. I guess it didn't bother anyone too much as no one told me, but I've fixed the problem.


	8. Shame

Return to the Solution

Splat

Splat

Squish

Splat.

Over and over, the sounds reverberated through the London night, and though Watson had so many things on his mind as he ran through the abandoned streets, the music of after hour suburbia was what his consciousness seemed to lock onto.

Has his foot slammed into a deep puddle, and Watson was reminded to what he hated most about the powerful city of his queen. Everything was always wet; this place was a constant center of moisture and mildew.

In actuality, it was an ideal location for an aspiring physician, for there would never be shortage of influenza out breaks or pneumonia cases, and yet, the air gave off an almost depressive aura, dragging ones hopes down into the fog.

But now as he drew closer and closer to his lodgings at 221 Baker Street, a sense of impending dread came over him that he could not possibly blame on the London air.

He climbed the steps and threw open the front door and was assaulted with the most hideous pandemonium of noises and sights.

At the top of the stairs stood Mrs. Hudson, clutching Marie in her arms as though she were protecting the child from some evil. The latter was sobbing, the former doing her best to consol the girl but not succeeding as every other word was raised in anger towards a shadow that Watson could not see.

"Mr. Holmes! You are simply not in your right mind! Please, I beg of you, let me take the girl if only until Doctor Watson returns."

A deep voice roared from inside the rooms,

"Do you think me incapable of caring for my own daughter!"

Mrs. Hudson attempted to make her voice as gentle but yet stern as possible as she formulated a response.

"Of course not Mr. Holmes, just seeing as you seem to be below your normal state of mind, it has after all been a very trying day…"

"You mean to tell me you don't think me able! I pay your rent woman, how dare you take my daughter from me and claim me incompetent!"

Watson had never heard his friend talk to anyone in such a rude manner, and upon reaching the top of the stairwell and seeing the absolute horror in Mrs. Hudson's eyes, he knew something was terribly wrong.

Turning to Watson, she pleaded for him to talk to Holmes for he was apparently, 'out of his mind'.

After sending the woman off, along with Marie, Watson carefully entered the room and attempted to find out what happened.

Upon entering, Watson was met with a sight that looked as though a child had thrown a terrible temper tantrum, and yet Watson knew of no child that would be capable of turning over book cases and toppling tables.

No, this is was the work of a grown man and it took no consulting detective to deduce which one.

Turning to his left, Watson saw Holmes sitting in one of the few chairs that had remained up right, an atmosphere of smoke surrounded him, his pipe his right hand, his left….

Watson's eyes were drawn to Holmes's left arm and he was immediately horrified to see exactly what Mycroft has feared.

Holmes's sleeve was rolled up past the elbow, and tied with that of a tie Watson had seen him wearing only hours before. The purple pricks seemed to be glowing in the haze of the room.

"Holmes…" It was barley above a whisper.

Holmes seemed not to hear, instead, he stared blankly ahead.

"I've lost her Watson."

Watson moved to sit besides Holmes on his left side, he would have liked to get a better look at his arm but was unable too as he shifted positions in his seat.

"Nonsense, Mrs. Hudson is merely watching over Marie until we send for her….certainly you'd like a break?" This too was said very low, Watson didn't know why, but it seemed as if speaking above a whisper would break the unsteady peace that had somehow formulated.

"I killed her, Watson."

A sharp intake of breath.

"Holmes, I just saw the girl and although frightened, she was perfectly…"

Before Watson had a chance to finish, Holmes stood and threw down his pipe.

"Damn it Watson! Not the child! I am talking about an innocent woman who was murdered because my lax attitude! She's dead Watson, a woman is dead because of me. The girl downstairs who has done no wrong in her life will now suffer all through adolescence hating the man responsible for her mothers death!"

It was not often Holmes suffered this sort of…breakdown, and while he had experienced similar incidents on a few select occasions, those were all due to overwork and physical exhaustion.

Never had Watson seen Holmes overwork his emotions.

"Holmes, it was not your fault, I'm sure had you known such…"

"I should have known Watson! I should not have been so blind as to let something like this happen! I _knew_ the risks; I thought that if I kept away, if I ignored an entire aspect of my life that I would be able to keep them both safe!

It's true you know, I am nothing more than a monster. I claimed to be an intelligent man, and yet I was so completely ignorant of your warnings, so…caught up in my own invincibility that I forgot others suffered from my actions."

Before Watson could even begin to denounce such assessments of his character, Holmes turned and put his hands on Watson's shoulders, his eyes were wide, his hair disheveled, and his face utterly vulnerable.

"I'm so sorry Watson, so incredibly sorry….I've put you in danger so many times…I keep you in the dark about cases, I deceive you to get the results I expect, I am pompous and egotistical…." As if suddenly realizing his position, he recoiled and wrapped his long thin arms around his equally thin torso.

"Holmes…Holmes you had no idea what was going to befall that woman, and while I don't agree with your original intentions…I understand that you did what you thought was best, I understand your grieving but you have no need to be ashamed of Marie or the situation…"

He had withdrawn to a corner, but at my words he spun around, his eyes full of a rage I had somehow caused.

"Ashamed Watson? I am a pathetic excuse for a man, one who puts others in harms way to solve a crimes in order to make a living so I could help finance a family that does not show up in any official records! I become a liability to every acquaintance I have, and thus keep all of society at bay only to be portrayed as some sort of hero in those damn stories of yours! I have solved crime after crime in an attempt to fill some sort of gap in my life only to become a slave of a chemical substance."

At this, he began to chuckle madly.

"Ah yes Watson, I'll admit it. I do find myself becoming more and more reliable on that damn syringe, and yet…. I am not sure I want to stop, it seems poetic doesn't it? A wretched man destroyed by a wretched substance.

In answer to your statement, I am ashamed of many things in my life, up until a year in a half ago, I was ashamed of my entire existence."

In less then fifteen minuets, Sherlock Holmes had gone from enraged madman, to manic depressive maniac, and had returned to his usual plastered state.

"And what changed a year in a half ago?" It was common practice for Watson to ask the questions, even if he did already know the answer.

"Marie happened Watson; she is the one thing of which I am not ashamed."

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Well, that was one giant conversation pretty much…

There are many many criticisms that are owed this chapter, please feel free to point each and everyone out, I hope to rewrite it soon but for the time being I'd like to get to a suitable ending point before I'm shipped off.

Thanks for all your reviews. Please keep them coming they are much appreciated.

So sorry it wasn't up sooner, dumb thing wouldn't let me upload though from what i hear we all suffered from it, I'm sorry but another chapter is pretty much out of the question before tomorrow.

Some nice reviews to send me off?


	9. The Perfect Actor

Return to the Solution

The Perfect Actor

The first thing I did upon waking the morning following Holmes's confession of self loathing and pride for his daughter, was close my eyes and attempt to return to sleep.

Night had been difficult, worry and fears raced across my mind as stray dogs raced upon the dreary London streets, searching for food as my mind searched for answers. But perhaps what laced my troublesome thoughts the most was the utter dysfunction that was beginning to occur between my friend and I.

For a time I found myself alone and cold. For a time my life consisted of gray, at night I found my self loathing sleep simply because I knew I would have to wake up again to another gray and meaningless morning.

And then, as the great poet Homer said, "The Rosy Fingered Dawn" showed itself to me and me finally, after so very long, found purpose.

As much as I loathed the current situation, as much as I abhorred all thoughts of any such behavior, he and he alone saw through my outer persona and reached out a helping hand. Holmes's had presented himself to me at a time in which I most required, under the facade of a man in need of financial assistance he invited me into his life of adventure and companionship.

I am no detective, but it has not gone unnoticed that my friend seems to have an ample sum of money, and is in no dearth of required funds.

Sherlock Holmes, _Perficio Ludio ludius_

And now, his friend was a father.

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At thirty-five past the hour of eight o'clock Watson made his way into the main living quarters of the flat that he shared with Sherlock Homes.

It did not take but a moment for the already perturbed man to notice the disarray of his floor, and his chair, and his breakfast table. It almost looked as though his dear friend was on a case. But surly that was impossible considering the current circumstances.

Turning to question a certain landlady as to the condition of his flat, he was startled to see her standing in the door way with a tray of tea.

"Mrs. Hudson…I do say what is all of this about?"

Looking not the least bit unnerved or rattled she made her way towards the table, or at least Watson believed it was a table at one time, at the moment he couldn't make out a visible surface.

"Certainly you realize what the slew of papers and his absence during the early morning means Doctor Watson?"

Frustrated, the usually patient man replied with a huff.

"Of course I understand what it looks like, but he couldn't possible be taking up employment, no matter how much joy he finds in the chase! And where the blaze is the girl? Oh dear…he didn't take her with him did he? The danger she could be in…he has no regard for his safety….but could he really disregard hers so easily?"

The hearty woman let a small laugh escape her lips before returning to her stolid professional frame.

"Of course he didn't take her along! He left her here."

As Watson's eyes widened Mrs. Hudson became alarmed that he was suffering pains of some sort. When he got down on all fours and began leafing through papers and looking under the table cloth she became absolutely petrified.

"Doctor!"

"Don't just stand there woman! Help me search for Marie! She could have sophisticated under Sunday's Times and we may not find her until Monday with this mess! Aren't you paid to keep this tidy! Honestly how can he live like this! This irresponsibility is unforgivable!"

"Doctor Watson, please stand up, you look like a fool!" In a rare show of force Mrs. Hudson had grabbed the frazzled man's arm in an attempt to pull him off the floor.

"This room is not safe for a child of such an age; we must find her amongst her clutter…. I know! Perhaps he left her in his bedroom."

Standing in order to search his friend's room, he was detained as a very determined landlady threw herself in his way.

"Please Doctor Watson, Marie is safe with me, she is downstairs asleep, Billy the page boy is looking after her why I served you your tea."

Looking relieved, embarrassed, and enraged Watson somehow found his way to the table, and somehow found a way to eat some of the Scottish ladies delectable cakes and tea.

Forty-five minuets after the hour of eight Watson put down his cup and asked one singular question.

"Just who's case did he employ himself under this time Mrs. Hudson?"

Another chuckle escaped the woman's lips.

"He is not under anyone's employment Doctor Watson."

"Woman, I was under the impression that he was out searching…."

A simple sigh and then a most shocking statement.

"Forgive me, but I thought you knew. Mr. Holmes is on a case, only it is a case for himself, you see, he's looking for the man who killed that girls mother."

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Thanks to Janey Aurora For sending me a small reminder people still read this. I am home as you all realize, but my laptop with the story did not work, and assuming it would be fixed soon I did not seek other methoids of writing until I realized that it may be longer then expected, meaning never. Lol

It seems that quite a slew of "Babies popping into lives" stories have been showing up.

Sweet.

Sorry its been forever, sorry the chappy isn't that great, I'm trying to metnaly figure out a mystery.

Any advice?

Thanka.

The Perfect Actor


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